


that I am writing of Thee

by gwiyeowo



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angry Sex, Angst, Canon Compliant, Hate Sex, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 22:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12022506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwiyeowo/pseuds/gwiyeowo
Summary: "And here it is, the gory truth of it: Joonmyun cannot refuse. He doesn’t have it in him. He’s tired, he’s sad, and the cause and cure are both right here, one point of contact between them. He steps back into the elevator and the doors slide closed, taking them both to Kris’s floor."A chance meeting spirals quickly out of control, but nothing changes.





	that I am writing of Thee

**Author's Note:**

> I am swamped with university stuff! Swamped, I tell you! So I've got a bunch of VIXX stuff in the works, but I've just finished this because it was the first thing that I saw when I opened my WIPs. (Hence it is very lightly edited. My apologies.)
> 
> (for certain values of finished - see end notes)
> 
> This is different from my usual fare, as it's pretty much constant angst. Tread carefully all ye who enter, yada yada. Set during a slightly altered version of Kokobop promos where they lined up with Kris.

Joonmyun doesn’t remember, really, a state of being other than constant fatigue. Even when he’s well-rested (which he decidedly isn’t at the moment), a sense of being _tired_ pulls at the edges of his mind in idle moments. Like he could sleep for a decade, wake up, and still have work to do.

Tonight is no different. He’d be stumbling from weariness, were he any less practiced at hiding it. As it is, however, he holds his head up behind his mask as he crosses the hotel lobby to pick up his key. The rest of the group checked in hours ago, but Joonmyun had been called away for back-to-back interviews.

There are two clerks working at the desk, and one of them is currently dealing with a customer. Joonmyun approaches the one who isn’t occupied and gives the pseudonym under which the manager had reserved his room. He slides his eyes across the lobby idly.

The customer with the adjacent clerk seems to…flinch. Joonmyun blinks away the need for sleep or coffee, looks a bit more carefully. The heavy coat conceals the man’s figure, huge designer shades over his eyes hide his face, but Joonmyun knows that jawline from a hundred, a thousand missed opportunities. Knows the shape of it under his lips as they whisper in the dark, “We can’t do this.”

It’s been three years since Kris left, but that doesn’t mean it’s been three years since Joonmyun has seen him.

No, it’s been a single year. Joonmyun feels, in a truly tragic cliché, all of his emotions bubbling to the surface—Kris _left_ , but more than that, he _stopped calling_. Even after everything, for a year, two years, Kris had found time to keep in touch. And then—he stopped. Joonmyun couldn’t find it in himself to reach out. His therapist has always said that one must prune off the infection in its entirety in order to save the plant.

 _Name your emotions_ , he tells himself. Give them each a neat compartment. Guilt, shame, confusion, fear, hot and fast. Kris’s expression across the lobby is unreadable. Joonmyun is so caught up in staring, heart racing, that he barely notices when the clerk proffers a keycard with a room number scribbled on the paper sleeve.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “The elevator is that way?” He points. The clerk nods, says something about a pool and gym facilities. The wi-fi has no password, only a confirmation screen. Guest laundry is down the hall. Breakfast is served beginning at 5:30.

Joonmyun breaks his own heart again, looks away from Kris, adds one more missed opportunity to his list. He’s so tired. The elevator blinks down toward the lobby.

Kris comes to stand at the elevator bank next to Joonmyun. _Anger_. Frustration. Of _course_ Kris finished checking in at the same time as Joonmyun, in a twisted kind of serendipity. Like when Kris rolled over in the bed they shared, wound an arm around Joonmyun’s waist, and Joonmyun thought that maybe _finally_ something was giving.

 _I’m leaving_ , Kris had confessed in the liminal space between night and day, pressed against Joonmyun like two nested question marks. It never became more than this—not a fight, nor an argument—not because Joonmyun didn’t care, but because he wanted nothing more than to respect Kris.

By the time his Taozi left, any will to fight had drained out of him, replaced by a quiet, funereal resignation and the unending fatigue.

It’s taken years, and a final, complete loss of contact, for Joonmyun to get here. _Here_ being _tired_ , but not _hollow_ all the time. But now, here, in front of him, is the catalyst, the self-admitted spark. Joonmyun feels his carefully picked-through feelings falling back into disarray. Kris can’t be here. Joonmyun’s life has gotten better since they’ve stopped clinging to what was. Holding onto loss, yearning after it, takes a toll.

So he doesn’t acknowledge Kris except for a perfunctory, “Which floor?”

“Eighteenth,” Kris replies, and Joonmyun thumbs the button after his own, the fifteenth.

The doors slide open and Joonmyun makes to step out, but Kris catches his wrist. “Please, Joonmyun, let’s talk.”

Patience, a virtue drilled into him since his assignment as leader. Tried and tested for years. “I wasn’t aware we had anything to say to one another,” he says as neutrally as he can manage when his insides feel like the beginning of _The Wizard of Oz_ , right before everything bursts into color.

“Maybe we don’t,” Kris responds levelly. “I’d still like a moment.”

And here it is, the gory truth of it: Joonmyun cannot refuse. He doesn’t have it in him. He’s tired, he’s sad, and the cause and cure are both right here, one point of contact between them. He steps back into the elevator and the doors slide closed, taking them both to Kris’s floor.

Still, they don’t speak. Not until Kris closes the door behind them, bolts it, latches it, and Joonmyun heaves a deep sigh and sags under the weight of his own memories. Kris pushes his shades onto his head.

Removing his mask, tucking it into the pocket of his slacks, Joonmyun blinks slowly and sighs, “If I weren’t so tired, I’d be angry with you. A year, Kris. A whole year.” Kris opens his mouth, closes it again. Good. “It hurts to look at you.”

“So leave,” Kris counters. “Since we have nothing to say to one another.”

Silence hangs thickly between them, waiting for the push that will send them crashing into one another again.

They reach out at the same time, lips meeting harshly, teeth dragging against skin in place of cutting words they’ve never said. Joonmyun holds on to Kris like a man drowning as Kris pulls them flush against one another, one hand under Joonmyun’s shirt, tugging it from its neat tuck to grab at the skin of Joonmyun’s torso, his back. Their breath comes harsh and wet between fierce kisses, Joonmyun letting out quiet noises of pain as Kris’s teeth catch on his lips.

“Off,” Kris gasps as he pulls back, adding his other hand to the effort of getting Joonmyun naked, and Joonmyun shoves at Kris’s coat and says, “You first.” Kris makes a low frustrated noise and shrugs his coat off, letting it fall crumpled on the floor as he all but rips Joonmyun’s shirt over his head.

“Do you just cut the first two buttons off of every shirt you own or do they come like this?” Kris taunts, and Joonmyun shuts him up with his lips, dragging Kris down to kiss him hotly, pull his head back with a tug of his hair, rake teeth down the tendon at the side of his neck, his collarbones. Kris is quiet, but his breathing is fast and urgent. Joonmyun makes quick work of Kris’s shades and top, and then they’re skin on skin from the waist up, Kris slotting a still-clothed thigh against Joonmyun’s cock. Joonmyun rolls his hips against it, slowing them down for a moment to the languid pace of sex after a long day.

Joonmyun rests his forehead against Kris’s sharp clavicle and breathes in as he ruts against Kris’s thigh, seeking only his own pleasure. Kris _takes_ his pleasure, though, pressing Joonmyun’s waist closer until he can grind against Joonmyun’s hip with a muttered, “Fucking shit, Joonmyun—“

“Are you going to fuck me properly or are we just going to rub off like horny teenagers? It’s late. I’m tired.” Joonmyun tries to sound curt and mostly succeeds. It galvanizes Kris into action, and Joonmyun is hauled bodily toward the hotel bed, pressed against it, kissed thoroughly into the submission he’s already granted. If he’s sentencing himself to hell, he damn well isn’t doing all the work here.

 _I hate him_ , Joonmyun thinks. _No, worse, I’m indifferent to him_ , he amends, and then Kris is sliding his slacks down his hips to take Joonmyun’s cock in his mouth and Joonmyun isn’t thinking about anything except fucking Kris’s head down onto him, one hand in Kris’s hair rudely, the other soothing across his shoulderblades, an unconscious motion. Kris’s hands splay across his hips, nearly meeting one another. He is so big, and Joonmyun is so small.

Kris’s mouth is hot around him, a bit clumsy, like Kris hasn’t done this much. The anxious anticipation of teeth catching sensitive skin brings Joonmyun to a higher pitch and he pulls Kris from his cock, drags him up for another searing kiss. He can taste himself on Kris’s lips, and he rolls his hips against Kris’s where he’s fallen on top of Joonmyun, an inexorable weight. “Please,” says Joonmyun quietly. He attempts to writhe in such a way that his slacks slide the rest of the way off his legs, with only moderate success. “Kris,” and, “just give me this.”

Kris’s eyes are pained as he looks down at Joonmyun, a quick, sharp sigh fanning across Joonmyun’s face. “Yeah,” he says, and if his tone weren’t entirely opaque, Joonmyun would venture to say he sounds sad. As is, though, Joonmyun shoves Kris to the side to swipe his slacks off entirely, leaving him bare on the bed as Kris roves a hungry gaze over his body. “Yeah,” Kris repeats as he tears himself away, going to rummage in one of his luggage compartments until he returns with a travel-sized bottle of lube.

Joonmyun watches Kris disrobe with idle interest, lying back on the hotel mattress and looking on as every inch of skin he’s wanted to touch, but never has, is put on display. Piece by piece, and then Kris is against him again. Joonmyun hesitates to bring his hands up, to stroke over all that skin, because it might shatter this tenuous détente. Their lips hover next to one another, touching but for a scant inch between them.

“Joonmyun,” Kris says quietly. And then stops. They have nothing to say to one another.

Joonmyun hooks a leg around Kris’s, draws him in, pulls him in for a slower kiss with one hand. It stirs nothing within him except base need. Joonmyun doesn’t feel the acute pain Kris seems to, and it’s cruel of him to take pleasure in this. Joonmyun gently takes the bottle of lube from Kris with his free hand, flipping the top and squeezing some out.

Kris breaks the kiss to watch as Joonmyun moves his hand between his own legs, stretching himself perfunctorily. One finger, then two, never quite reaching that place inside himself that makes this worth it. It’s over quickly, and Joonmyun grimaces and swipes his fingers clean on Kris’s nice hotel bed. “Lie down, come on,” Joonmyun murmurs, breaking Kris’s trance, and in a flurry of limbs they’ve rearranged themselves, Kris reclining at the head of the bed, Joonmyun poised over his waist.

Joonmyun braces one hand against Kris’s chest and sinks down, holding Kris’s cock steady with his other hand. The stretch is unremitting, Joonmyun’s body unused to it, but he persists until he’s flush against Kris.

When he chances a glance up at Kris, he looks torn between pleasure and grief.

Something breaks inside Joonmyun. He closes his eyes, his brow furrowing as he is buried again beneath the weight of memory, of the distance bred over the intervening year. Reaching out blindly, he touches Kris’s clavicle, his neck, pulls Kris to him and hugs him tightly. Kris makes a desperate little noise and holds Joonmyun in return, burying his face in Joonmyun’s shoulder. “Joonmyun,” Kris whispers again, lips moving on Joonmyun’s flesh.

Rather than answer, Joonmyun rolls his hips in the limited space between them, and Kris breaks off in a gasp, falling back to let Joonmyun move atop him. Joonmyun’s name falls from his lips, a litany, and then it’s fast and hot, Kris’s hips rocking up as Joonmyun’s crash down. Kris comes back up to wrap Joonmyun in his arms, tilting him back, thrusting in at an angle that makes Joonmyun’s head fall back into Kris’s waiting hand. Soft moans resound through the room, and Joonmyun knows distantly that he’s making too much noise. He can’t help himself, this feels so _good_ , Kris moving in him so powerfully, _right there_.

“Joonmyun,” Kris pants as Joonmyun’s cock leaks between them, as Kris leans forward to drag his lips and teeth down Joonmyun’s pectoral. “I’m close, you—touch yourself—“

Joonmyun obeys urgently, crying out sharply as he works himself over, Kris’s cock hitting that spot inside him over and over, until it’s too much from every side, too hot, pleasure rolling over him in waves—

“ _Yifan,_ ” Joonmyun sobs, falling forward against Kris as he comes in a rush between them, Kris stilling not long after with a shaky exhalation. “God,” Joonmyun whispers as Kris shakes beneath him. “God,” he repeats. _Forgive me_. Or, maybe, _thank you_.

For a few moments, the room is silent and still. They hold each other without comment.

And then Joonmyun is climbing off of Kris, gathering his clothing, rushing to the ensuite to clean himself off hurriedly. He locks the door behind him, looking himself over in the mirror. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. His hair is easily put to rights. His professional outfit smooths back into place with a few perfunctory brushes of the cloth. The light makeup on his face shows no new signs of wear.

It seems to Joonmyun that something _should_ have altered, for the better or worse. It seems too capricious of fate to allow such rash decisions with no visible change of course.

Kris is dressed in sleep clothes when Joonmyun exits the bathroom, and he stands next to the door out of the room, looking like he’s poised to say something. Once he takes in Joonmyun’s blank face, his schooled expression, Kris’s face falls and he, too, quickly schools his expression into something neutral.

As Joonmyun makes to leave, Kris clears his throat. Joonmyun pauses, hand on the doorknob.

“My number is still the same,” Kris says, and Joonmyun takes a moment to breathe, gather the pieces of himself he can hear broken in Kris’s voice. “I miss you.”

“No you don’t,” Joonmyun says back, sharply. Again, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Maybe, _You can’t_. Maybe, _You left us, and then you left me._

He lets the silence speak for itself as he pulls the door open and leaves, letting it swing shut after him, locking with a mechanical whir as he leaves Kris behind.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~please don't~~ yell at me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slowlorisvevo) or [tumblr](http://rapjoonhyung.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> Re: certain values of finished, if this gets a good reception (as I've never really written EXO fic before), I'm open to uploading the B-side sex scene where everything is fluffy and KrisHo are all teary and happy.
> 
> Leave me a comment letting me know what you think, or dm/@ me on Twitter, or anon message me!


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